Norrath Is A Big Place
by lady-ark
Summary: Written when this would have been considered character backstory, not fanfic :   Characters from EQ1
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Based on EQ1, this would be my first ever foray into writing for pleasure and not when a teacher told me to.  
>It's old. Can be a little wordy when I got caught up with game lore, but it was fun to put my and my (now) husband's characters onto paper (literally, scribbling on notepads with a flashlight under the covers instead of sleeping).<p>

* * *

><p>All was calm that night as the Sirensbane glided silently across the Ocean of Tears. The moon glowed on the water's surface and the islands were nothing more than hulking shadows, on some of which lights flickered from distant campfires and windows. It was peaceful with the usual noises one would expect: waves splashing and thumping against the hull; ropes and wood creaking as the ship steadily glided across the black water; wind snapping at a loose sail and the pennant atop a mast; sailors passing along orders as the captain corrected their heading based on the celestial bodies; a haunting melody drifting down from a sailor playing the harmonica in the crows' nest. In harmony with the tune was a barely perceptible humming emanating from the ships' figurehead; the magic imbued into her to counteract the song of the sirens that beckoned ships and sailors to join them on the rocks.<p>

Near the stern, horses were tethered tightly with their heads covered in attempts to keep them calm. A stable hand walked amongst them, whispering calming words to the beasts, while another cleaned the deck of soiled straw, laying fresh straw out. In a small cabin below decks, a Teir'dal couple rested, contemplating the journey leading to a new life. Their sea voyage almost at an end, Captain Aranel Al'Aensar smiled down at his bride as he smoothed her hair.

He was a promising officer in the Indigo Brotherhood, favored to be one of the youngest to achieve dragoon status since the wars. He was from a middle class family in which the power of mana had never manifested. Rather than letting that become a deficiency or a sore topic, it had become a point of pride to the extent that great pains were taken to ensure the family remained without magic, and thus it became traditional to serve within the warrior guildhall. Secretly, he wished he could join the ranks of the Dread Guard in the guarding of the City; a less dangerous position that would allow him to be home with his family more often.

Felanni Al'Aensar was from a lesser House and a priestess within the Temple of Hate, specializing in field medicine, physical recovery and therapy, which is how she met her husband after he was hurt in a skirmish in the Commonlands. They were wed without the blessing of their families; hers believed he was beneath their daughter and they did not want the family line to become impure with the manaless, while his family was happy he was marrying a noble but they did not understand why their son could not find a suitable female without the taint of mana.

This trip was to establish trade between the Orcs of Faydwer, specifically the Crushbone Clan, and the city of Neriak, as decreed by the King Nathox Thex. This was all unbeknownst to Queen Cristanos, thus none of her guilds were included in the delegation. The constant quarrelling between the pair of self-declared monarchs caused tension within the city, along with the strain as the guilds worked to maintain their independence and the shuffling of alliances. These were all the more reasons for the couple to be away for a while, even with a child on the way.

During the darkest time before the dawn, the ship came into sight of the shores of the Butcherblock Mountains, a lone lantern marking the rocky outcropping north of the harbor. Although the City of Men, Freeport, would allow anyone passage so long as they paid enough coin, the denizens of Faydwer were less opportunistic, and so the captain had his crew glide the ship almost to a stop near the outcropping that allowed the passengers of less 'tolerable origins' to disembark safely and dryly in the cover of darkness, to be greeted by two small orc runners.

The journey through the mountain range was uneventful, as the small delegation of dark elves and their guides stopped for the day at the Orc outpost tucked into a small valley adjacent to the caravan trail. The following night, the party made their way along the trail, avoiding other night travelers who were just as uninterested in the group as they of them. Soon, they traversed the pass through the Hills of Shade and moved into the greater of the Faydarks, slowly travelling north through the forest to the craggy hills.

Dusk was falling when sentries of the Clan spotted the delegation, sending runners ahead to let the others know of the arrival. Once within the gates of Clan Crushbone, the Emperor and his staff greeted the delegation and put forth a feast to welcome them, the cheers intensifying when they saw the priestess was with child; children were rare amongst both elves and orcs alike, giving cause for greater celebration. Slaves from the island continent served the meal, some sporting chains between their feet and little more than clean rags for clothing. Felanni frowned from behind her scented handkerchief at the sight of bruises and scars on the slaves, troubled at the idea of her proud city participating in slavery, even if they did take those treacherous Koda'dal down a notch or two. The hatred she saw in the few slaves that were not yet broken would do her own people proud.

The following day, Ambassador D'vinn and representatives of the Dark Bargainers, along with other interested parties, began the long process of negotiations and hammering out the details of possible trade routes. Meanwhile, the priestess began to swap healing techniques with the female Orcs and Aranel started to assist in the training of Crushbone's militia. So began their new life, the monotony broken when eventually a baby girl was born to them, an elves' time in the womb longer than that of Men. There was another feast held in celebration and honor of the new mother, new children being far and few between within the Clan. On her sixth day after a long birthing, a small tattoo was marked just inside the baby's left hipbone with the family symbols on her hip: a river and a bulrush crossed.

* * *

><p>By the girl-child's first year, the elves of the forest had caught wind of the Orcs participating in organized fighting. This coupled with the rumors of slavery and missing citizens caused the Elder to send forth an army of Kelethins' finest, with all of her guilds represented in force and a handful of Songweavers to lead the battle cries. In the dead of night, the Feir'dal attacked Clan Crushbone, Faydarks' Champions easily proving more adept in the forest than the orcs, sneaking up behind the sentinels and soundlessly slitting their throats. It was a precise and deadly attack that soon breached the gates, catching the sleeping Clan almost unawares.<p>

A sentry on the castles' ramparts raised the alarm when he noticed strange figures creeping along the edges of the fields. Their cover blown, the wood elves set to their work quickly. A division of the invading force headed for the slave adding to the pandemonium as they freed the slaves with keys found on the bodies of the Orcs. Once freed, the slaves joined in the battle, taking weapons from the corpses of their captors. The tents and buildings surrounding the castle were set on fire, casting strange flickering silhouettes as Orc and Teir'dal alike fought Faydark forces. The air crackled with the energy and hissed as volleys of arrows flew from ground to ramparts and vice versa. As the castle gates were pounded on, the orcs and dark elves struggled to regroup and drive away their attackers.

The baby lay in her cradle and screamed as the castle quivered with each thundering crash of the battering ram. Torn between her duties as mother and the Clan's master healer, the Teir'dal woman wrapped her baby tightly first in her own velvet wedding dress then in a cloak embroidered with their crest. She clasped her child to her chest, tears rolling down her face as the door banged open, revealing Aranel standing there, a sword and an axe held before him, blood seeping from beneath his armor. Behind him, a group of orcish archers clattered up the stairs to add reinforcements on the roof.

The couple exchanged a look. She sobbed as he stepped into the chamber to embrace his wife and child as a small orc runner lingered at the door. They each gave the now-quiet infant a kiss on her forehead, murmuring how much they loved her and prayed that their god would keep her safe. Realizing they may never see their baby again, they reluctantly gave their child to the orc, who disappeared just as the castle felt like it rocked on its foundations: the main gate had been breached.

Quickly, Felanni placed her hand under his tunic, her fingers finding his wound. Calling forth the power of Innoruuk, she channeled it through her hands, healing the wound, and giving her husband renewed energies. A quick prayer blessed him with the protection of the gods and without a word, the couple ran out to lend their aid in driving off the invaders.


	2. Chapter 2

Using the stream system that ran through the craggy hills and orcan encampment, the orc and his precious bundle managed to slip by the battling forces undetected. Pushing through the exhaustion that threatened to overtake him, the orc made his way across Faydwer; stealing what they needed from anyone they crossed paths with. Days later, the orc crouched by the walls surrounding the Port of Faydwer, clouds obscuring the night sky, too late to board the ocean vessel from the outcropping.

As the ship, Stormbreaker, bound for Freeport, silently glided up to the dock, the orc adjusted the oilskin to ensure the child would stay dry and slipped into the water. While the passengers and cargo were unloaded and the Freeport-bound ones were loaded, the orc climbed up the mooring lines and clambered over the rails. Undetected for the moment, they hid themselves amidst the cargo. A shrill whistle sounded and the gangplank was raised, the night breeze catching the sails and soon the ship pulled away from the docks and towards Antonica.

The baby's eyes seemed to glow in the dark and she peered around into the darkness that was like daylight to the eyes of the drow. It was chilly and strange sounding in the hold as they were below the surface of the water. The orc was doing his best to not fall asleep, his head nodding to his chest before being yanked upright in a panic. The girl-child was in his arms, when the door to the cargo hold was flung back and a large human in rattling armor clunked down the stairs, muttering under his breath. The orc bolted upright, awake in an instant, his grip on the swaddled child tightened, praying to both his god and hers that she would stay silent.

But neither Innoruuk nor Rallos Zek are normally inclined to grants prayers. The infant whimpered and began to fuss at the bright light and loud noise, uncomfortable with the tight grip. The human raised his lamp and squinted into the darkness. When he made out a shape larger than a rat, he drew his sword, "You there! Show your face, scoundrel!"

Desperate and trapped, the orc placed her down behind a crate, thinking to save the child, and moved forward slowly, showing his hands to prove he was unarmed. At the sight of the orc, the human cried out in surprise and anger, directing some of his power towards the enemy, stunning the orc, before he ran the orc through.

Grunting with his last breath, the orc whispered in the common tongue used for trading, "Knight...save...ba-..." and collapsed, a pool of foul smelling blood forming underneath him.

The human frowned in puzzlement at the last words, scratching at his moustache. He leaned over to clean his sword off on the body when another movement in the shadows caught his eye. Sword up, he grabbed the lantern and raised it to see a bundle of cloth moving. Poking it with his sword, the bundle squealed and jerked again. Stepping over the stinking corpse, he peered around the box; shock on his face when he saw what appeared to be a baby. He sheathed his sword and picked up the child, peeling back layers of oilskin and well-made cloth. His frown returned, deeper than before, when he noticed that her skin wasn't dark due to the lack of light.

Undiscriminating, the child wrinkled her nose and laughed at the sight of a funny-looking face, reaching up to tug on the man's beard. When he didn't smile back, she quieted down and returned his serious look, holding his gaze with her dark eyes.

It was the paladin who looked away first, troubled. "By the Abyss!" he cursed then sighed, his mind racing. He believed that life was precious and children should not be punished for their ancestor's sins. He sighed again and shook his head. "No promises, little one, but let's see what the Lord Protectors say." Whispering a quick prayer to the God of Valor, he blessed the child with spells of protection. Tucking his new burden against him, he grabbed the lantern and headed back up the short ladder, forgetting his original need for whatever was in the cargo hold.

Above decks, a group of human paladins lounged along the railings. There was a group of dwarves sitting off to one side, playing dice to pass the time but their hearts weren't into the game, as they were not allowed to drink on the journey. The knights of Brell Serilis looked up, curious, as the human closed the hatch, struggling as he balanced a small bundle and the lantern and the door. "What y'got there, Pegador?" The humans started to gather around him.

Pegador Maral cleared his throat as he put down the lantern, "I went to look for...funny, I can't remember...anyways, while I was down there, I came across an orc." There was an outburst of sounds, swords scraping half out of sheaths, as the paladins looked around as if the ship was suddenly going to be overrun with the smelly creatures. Pegador raised a placating hand, "Don't worry, he was stowed away in the dark, behind some crates. I think he was the only one. For some reason, when I killed him, he said 'Save baby' to me, so I looked around, and by Erollisi's grace, I found this little one."

They crowded around him, unsuspecting, some of the dwarves leaning over trying to see what their taller counterparts were up to. When he pulled back the cloth, they drew back collectively, scowling and exclaiming all at once. "Sir Maral, are you blind? What were you thinking?"

"Why didn't you kill it?"

He frowned and drew back protectively, cradling the child against his chest, "It's only a baby though!"

"Sure, but it's one of Hate's children!"

One of the dwarves elbowed another, "Hey, aye 'eard dat dem inkies be eatin' babies o' dar enemies."

The pair nodded seriously at each other, tugging at their beards, while another piped up, "Yar, well I 'eard dey drink blood fer dem magiks!"

The fourth dwarf, a blonde bearded female in gold-trimmed armour spoke up, barely audible over the clamour of the males, "Aye ken fer a fac', dey b'stealin' chill'un an' kill d'guards fer der slave-tradin's. Me cuzin live o'er in d'Comm'nlan's ou'side o' Freeport, an' some o' 'er neighb'urs ha' loss der children t'darkie raiders." The group fell silent as they turned wide eyes up to Pegador and the infant.

He sighed heavily, "I know what she is, but...she's only a baby...even Erollisi wouldn't turn her back on a helpless infant, would she? What am I supposed to do? Kill her? Abandon her? Take her back to Neriak and get myself killed in the process?" The group shuffled their feet, unsure and unhappy with the choices, each paladin secretly glad that they were not in Pegador's place.

He turned his back on his comrades, heading down to the galley to see if he could find something that the child would want and perhaps a soft cloth for a clean diaper, stopping to let the captain know about the body and stowaway. He grew pensive when he thought about going before the masters at the Hall, meditating on his bunk while the babe slept in his arms, asking forgiveness for the slaying of an unarmed foe in haste. The rest of the voyage he stayed away from the others.

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><p>Two days later, as the sun began to sink behind the cityscape, Stormbreaker pulled up to the dock, the Harbour Master and his assistants awaiting them to tally the cargo. Pegador gave a small half-elf boy a silver piece to carry his bag and lance while he led his horse, the infant tucked in the crook of his arm, her face covered with a fold of cloth. The city's lamplighter nodded to the paladin as he carried his ladder to the next lamp. The tower of the Temple loomed ever higher as they made their way through the streets of Freeport toward the Hall of Truth, home of Freeport's knights.<p>

In short order, the horse was stabled and in good hands, and Pegador was walking down the hallway outside of the barracks. A pageboy stood next to the door, "I see one of my companions has been to the Lord Protectors already," he held out his hand for the summons the boy held, giving him a copper piece in exchange. He sighed to himself then straightened his shoulders, "Very well then, I guess no rest for the wicked." Placing his bag at the foot of his bunk, he stopped by the kitchen to get a small skin of milk for the child, and made his way to the offices of the guild masters.

The room was comfortably warm with a small brazier in the corner. There was a tapestry over the window to keep the cool evening air out, and a rug of wolf fur on the floor. On the walls were pictures of past heroes of the guild along with beautifully wrought swords, some still stained with the blood of foes and dragons they had slain. To his left were two large chairs against the wall. On the wall opposite the main door were a group of sturdy wooden desks, unusually void of paperwork.

At this moment, the headmasters of the guildhall were occupying three of the chairs: Valeron Dushire, the High Lord Protector of the Hall, and his two main advisors: Kalatrina Plossen, a peaceful, statuesque woman of darker coloring, and Merko Quetalis, a tall man with auburn hair and moustache who was absentmindedly fidgeting with the pommel of his sword. Near the back door, standing next to a small table with a pile of blank paper and an inkwell was a young squire, one of the few females called to this duty, who stepped forward to take the child from Pegador's arms.

Gesturing for the knight to sit after returning the salute, Valeron shifted in his chair and stretched a leg before him. "Welcome back, Sir Pegador Maral. We will hear your report of the mission tomorrow with the others, but for now, we wish to hear more of this...discovery...you made on the journey home."

Succinctly, the man recounted the story. When he finished, Valeron nodded, "And what do you suppose we do with the child of the drow, whom, I need not remind you, harbor no goodwill towards us?"

Presented with the same dilemma as on the ship, Pegador answered the same, adding, "And the thought of raising her to be a spy or something similar makes my stomach turn. That is not the way of Mithaniel..."

Merko cleared his throat, his voice rough, "We can agree with that. Would you be willing to accept responsibility for this child for the rest of your natural life, should we come to that?"

Dropping to a knee and bowing his head, the knight drew his ceremonial short sword, "Before you, before the Marrs, I swear I shall."

"An oath, while appreciated and will be asked of you should it come to that, is not what is needed at this moment, Sir Pegador," Kalatrina's voice was like fine brandy, "Do rise. Go, and clean up from your trip, rest the night. We shall send the child to the Temple to be ensured it is healthy, and we..."

"She, ma'am."

"Your pardon?"

"The child is a girl. She has a small tattoo, but other than that she is flawless."

The woman arched an eyebrow in mild annoyance and then nodded. "Very well, she shall go to the Temple, we shall deliberate on this matter and you will remain after tomorrows mission briefing to hear our decision." The trio stood, Valeron nodding his dismissal to Pegador.

Unable to even say goodnight to the infant, he left the room, weary. The barracks were quiet as he walked through to the bathing room, washing off the travel dust and leaving his armor to be cleaned by a page, before lying down on his bunk. He remained that way, arms folded under his head, eyes staring at the top bunk above him, listening to the other men snore in the darkness, until the sun's rays began to color the morning sky.


	3. Chapter 3

It was hard for Pegador to concentrate while he attended to his morning duties. He went through the motions of the morning drill; discipline being a large part of the life of a paladin. After donning his gleaming ornate armor for special occasions, every buckle and strap polished to a high shine, and ensuring that he appeared clean and well groomed, he met up with his travelling companions outside of the meeting hall. The group of paladins had travelled to Faydwer to meet with sister Orders in the cities of Kaladim and Felwithe, and now appeared before the council to report on how the proceedings had gone. Pegador refrained from mentioning the child in his part of the debriefing.

Following, there was a more formal meeting with all knights currently staying at the Hall to introduce the group of Brell's paladins who accompanied the humans back across the ocean. By the time the ceremony finished, it was time for the noon meal and the council requested that Pegador return afterwards. The food was like sawdust in his mouth and the noisy bustle of the mess hall was a dull roar in the back of his mind, as he was driven to near-distraction with concern for the well-being and fate of the infant.

Finally, the meal was over and the knight soon found himself standing before the council again. This time, the other two Lord Protectors who were unable to attend the previous night were also present: Thelron Rolius, a lean, pale man, and Lanis Herion, a short, sturdy woman who helped teach fighting skills to the healers. The five were stone-faced, giving Pegador no hint as to the future of himself or the girl. Saluting, he waited for the council to speak, his eyes fixed on a broadsword hanging on the opposite wall over the Council's heads.

"I have noticed that you have been showing undo lack of interest in your duties, Sir Pegador Maral. I shall assume that is out of concern for the child?" Valeron looked pointedly at the paladin, who nodded. "While we do not all fully agree," when the headmaster said this, Merko grimaced. "We acknowledge that we follow the path of honor and virtue, valor and love. Thus it is agreed that the child may stay in Freeport on..." Valeron held up a calloused hand, "On the following conditions."

Pegador swallowed and anxiously shifted his weight. "First, we shall meet with the guild masters of the city and the Magistrate, to see if there are any objections to the child being raised here. There is already a Teir'dal living in the Pit, as well as the ogre merchant at the western gate. Not to mention the allowance of thieves and corrupted knights." The last was said with a sneer. "You will also be required to attend the Temple and make offerings and penance. Your soul is important to us, Sir Maral."

Kalatrina raised a finger, "Passing the city council, the child will be boarded at the Temple, where the priests can keep a close eye on her as she grows, to be sure that she shows no signs of following Hate's path."

Lanis politely cleared her throat, "Your pardon, Lady Plossen, but might I also suggest the child be taken to the mystic woman living at the fishing village in the desert?" The two women nodded at each other, then looked to the knight to ensure he caught the suggestion. He had, making a mental note to do so, as well as seek out the drow and ogre living in the city.

Thelron, in charge of new recruits, spoke up, "After five years, we shall see if the mana is manifest in her and if the child is able to be enrolled in the Hall, although we do not know much about elfin or drow development rates. However, it would be quite an accomplishment to get a Teir'dal to wield a holy blade." The pale man chuckled.

Elated and surprised at the decision, Pegador bowed before them, hiding his emotions. "When shall we meet with the council, m'lords and ladies? And when may I start my penance?"

"A letter detailing the events that have transpired is being drafted at this moment to each of the guild masters. You will be leaving tomorrow morning for the desert with the child. You should be back by evening, and the following day the council should meet." Valeron inclined his head. "Make sure the child is back in the Temple by sundown tomorrow. After the meeting, you may begin your penance, along with learning about the care of babies from the priests and taking part in the raising of the girl. Also be advised, you will be responsible for the child in all things. We are also sending a letting to the City of Neriak to inquire about the lost child, she shall be considered dead in our eyes and yours as well, should they come for her."

That settled, Pegador saluted and turned to go when the smooth voice of Kalatrina stopped him, "Sir Pegador, have you thought to name the child?"

The man paused, his mind racing. He had, indeed, thought of it, not wanting to burden her with a name that would cause her to stand out unduly, nor pressure her to be human. "Anerak, a derivation of the type of cloak she was found in." The council nodded as the scribe's quill scratched quickly across the parchment, holding out the contract for Pegador to sign his acknowledgement and compliance of the conditions to being guardian and protector of the dark elf babe, and he was dismissed.

Finding himself with a free afternoon, Pegador went to seek out the ogre merchant, Boomba the Big, a merchant and trader who raised his stall near the western gates of Freeport. It was difficult understanding the ogre's simple and heavily accented words, but the man managed to find out that the ogre did, in fact, enjoy living in the City of Men, and most people, when standing upwind, were tolerable to his presence. The dark elf in the Pit, a dirty and rundown part of the city, was nowhere to be found. Pegador could feel his skin crawl from eyes watching him as the shadows lengthened, his fingers itching to draw his sword.

* * *

><p>The following day soon after dawn, Pegador made his way to the Temple, wearing only light mail and carrying a short sword and small buckler. Waiting for a short time, soon the Handmaiden of Erollisi, Serna Tasknon came down, child in her arms. "Your child is a sweet one, Sir Pegador. Whatever the mystic says, know that her path follows closely to that of a healer. She is born with the power, and perhaps one of her parents followed such a path. Take good care of her." She placed a kiss on the dark-skinned forehead, getting a happy gurgling noise in response, and handed Anerak up to him, showing Pegador the sling she had fashioned for him to carry the child while freeing his hands. Nodding his thanks, he road towards the southern gates, making his way through the crowded streets past the shops.<p>

The sun was reaching its apex when the grass gave away to sand and the smell of the ocean was on the air. He paused under the shade of a struggling tree to give horse and babe something to drink. The heat was making the child sleepy, which he was thankful for. A couple of hours later, he rode into the Northmen's encampment on the shores, where a girl of about fifteen summers met him. Several men and a woman stood in the water, kilts belted higher to stay dry while they fished along the shallows.

She nodded her head in greeting, "I am Rhonwynn, apprentice to the mystic. She told me you were coming. Puntar will take your horse. Follow me." The young woman was as tall as his horse, he noted as he dismounted, handing his reigns over to the boy. Trying not to stumble as he walked in the sand, he followed Rhonwynn to a hut, a string of fish drying in the desert sun hanging against the wall. He stepped through the portal as the girl held back the hide that substituted as a door, his eyes straining as they adjusted from the daylight to the darkness. "Mama Marsali, the paladin and babe are here."

The sound of waves lapping at the sand was hardly muted inside the flimsy-seeming structure. Dust motes danced in the air as the sunlight filtered through cracks in the bamboo walls. Candles sat on shelves around the larger room, causing strange-shaped shadows to dance feebly on the walls. Off to the side was a fur hanging haphazardly over a doorway, most likely hiding the sleeping area. Under the shelves were trunks and piles of what could have been bones, and leaning in the corner was a gnarled walking stick and straw broom. There was a mat of dried reeds on the floor, letting sand carried indoors to fall beneath it. Rhonwynn gestured for Pegador sit before the fire, which he did.

One of the dark masses opposite him began to move, "Welcome, young one." The voice was dry and raspy, but definitely female: the mystic.

"In the name of Mithaniel and by order of my superiors, I come before thee, wise one." He bowed in his seat.

The shape leaned forward so her face was bathed in light; skin wrinkled from many years of being outdoors, in cold weather and reflected sunlight, tanned like leather, though many faint tattoos could still be seen. The eyes were milky white where there should be pupils. "Let me see her." Across the fire, two steady hands reached, bracelets of bone and seeds clacking, her skin smooth and soft. He paused at her words, but gave the child up when she chuckled at her own joke.

Anerak woke, and gurgled up at the new face that made cooing noises back. Giving the child a smooth ivory bracelet to play with, the old woman turned back to her guest. "What would you know of her?"

Without thinking, he shrugged, only to be nudged by Rhonwynn's toe. "My pardon," he cleared his throat, "I wish to know what became of her parents, and my masters would know of her future...to see if she is safe to keep in the city..."

His voice trailed off as the old woman chuckled again. "She is but a babe, what can a child do to scare an entire city of warriors and knights and sorcerers?" He shifted uncomfortably, unsure.

"Ah, Rhonwynn, have you ever seen one so stiff?" The girl smiled behind her hand. Angered, Pegador started to rise, when the old woman raised her hand to stop him, "Now, now, holy warrior, sit. Stay. Forgive an old woman her humors." Taking a breath, she began humming and rocking back and forth. Her bracelets began to rattle as she shook a hand, scattering some runed bones onto a cloth before her. Charcoal scratching furiously against the scraped hide, Rhonwynn began to write down the placements of the bones and the sigils showing, ready to record what her mistress saw and spoke of.

"The child has no ties to the world now, other than you. She was loved, though. As for the future...mmm..." Pegador leaned forward as she frowned. "Much love, much violence, but I cannot see far. I can assure you, she is no threat to your city, though there will be some who will never believe aught but other. You must be watchful of yourself."

"Myself?"

"There is nothing more. That is all I can say. The spirits have spoken." With that, the shamaness placed a blue dot of woad on the babe's forehead, barely visible against her dark blue skin, blessing her.

Holding out the child to her guest, he rose, bowing deeply, before taking Anerak back, his face showing his bewilderment. "My thanks, wise woman."

The sun was beginning its descent behind the distant hills when he emerged from the hut; he hadn't realized how much time had passed. The young barbarian boy, Putar, was waiting with the horse. Rhonwynn held the infant as Pegador as he mounted, then handed up the child and sling. She patted his leg, "I hope her answers will guide you. Ride safe before the cutthroats emerge with the dusk." He nodded his thanks and turned his steed north to the distant gates, intent on making it back to the Temple before sunset.

The following day, Freeport was just waking when the guild representatives filed into the red-painted Office of the People. Magistrate Saffio watched over the room. Envoys from cities across Norrath were also present, more to keep in touch with the changes within Freeport than to have opinions regarding specific citizens. Pegador stood in the back of the room, listening as each member shared their opinion. He was asked to share his reasons to want to keep her and what the wise woman Marsali had said, which he did, though when it came to the part of her warning to him, something strange compelled him to refrain from sharing it. The babe was passed to each person, and either by chance, her intuition, or divine intervention, she warmed most hearts towards her.

The representative from the Freeport Militia was against it, having lost family members in a battle against the dark elves; the Merchants Guild was very reluctant, having only unflattering assumptions about the dark elves, similar to what the dwarves spoke on the ship. Tholius Quey, the head priest of Marr, and the Handmaiden stood up to promise they would watch over closely and board the child until her fifth year. Then would be the determination of her following, if any, and Pegador was to be her guardian in all things, the contract shown to all. In the end, a vote was cast and the child was allowed to remain in the city, the entire proceedings of which had been recorded by scribes.


	4. Chapter 4

Years passed quickly with little incident. The infant grew to a small child, watched closely by all around her for any sign of evil. Anerak was smaller and seemingly more delicate than the human children, yet was bound determined to keep up with them in all of the horseplay. Every day she spent some time with Pegador, aware that he wasn't her father, but that he loved her nonetheless. By the fifth autumn of her living in the Temple, the head priest and handmaiden were still not sure of her calling, so Anerak chose to study in the Hall of Truth, as she enjoyed the martial part of their training, although she excelled in the basics of working the magic within her.

Teachers that didn't like the dark elf's presence banned her from their classes till directed otherwise then placed her in the back of the classrooms. There was mixed stances on whether to push her more than the other children to drown out any calling from Innoruuk or be more relaxed when it came to the faith side of her education, letting it just happen, as they didn't want to tear her soul. Her classmates were no meaner to her then children are to any who are different, which is to say they were awful but she was more than willing to resort to her fists when provoked, quickly becoming the champion of the playgrounds.

By the age of eight she was able to enroll as a junior page to Pegador. This let them spend more time together, but she wasn't allowed to accompany him on duties when he left the compound. She was actually not allowed to leave at any time unless accompanied by an approved guardian. Instead, she chose to leave without permission, becoming adept at sneaking in and out of most buildings. Soon she discovered the Underground of Freeport, running errands and mingling with the less savory characters of the city. She was once found teaching minor healing techniques to a group of whores, and became quite skilled at sleight of hand and the game of King's Court.

She enjoyed her studies about the history of Norrath, but was silently disappointed by the lack of information she could find about the people she was born to. The history of Men was quite short as they were the youngest race to be placed upon Norrath by the grace of the Marr's. There were a few texts about when the Combine Empire flourished, when many lived in harmony and shared knowledge, thus all races have the knowledge to access mana today. Freeport was located where an elfin outpost was located before Antonius Bayle I rebuilt it and established a city of trade. Then there were increased sightings of darker beings that resembled elves. Briefly mentioned was a battle fought in the forest of Kithicor against dark elves led by none other than the self-proclaimed daughter of Hate. She was killed, but there had been nothing but trouble since. It was also believed that the tower located in the Oasis was a remnant of some long ago elfin city or guard post.

The lack of complete knowledge gnawed at Anerak, and she longed to seek out the great library of Erudin. Pegador did his best to help her any way he could, paying steeply to any elf that came through Freeport to come speak with her, teaching her the language of Elves and what little jaded history they had.

By Anerak's fifteenth year in the Free City, she had grown to be a lithe young woman with alluring pale blue eyes and pure white hair that cascaded down her back. She was less developed physically than most of her human peers due to her aging slower but carried herself with a maturity far beyond even her own years, subconsciously distracting to most males around her; even her guardian couldn't help but notice. Squires began to fight amongst themselves for her attention; although she made it clear she favored none when it came to midnight rendezvous'.

* * *

><p>It was a warm day when she was sitting by the water canal by the Theatre of the Tranquil, watching the Ashen Order go through their drills as she read a book. She took sinful pleasure in making the stodgy monks uncomfortable with her presence. Studying with her were several classmates, waiting to see what other trouble the dark elf would come up with, when four armored men walked up to the group. Their armor glinted in the sun, their badges showing that three were from the Militia and the fourth from the Steel Warriors.<p>

Confused why the two rivaling groups would be working together, Anerak shaded her eyes, looking up when they crowded around her. "May I help you, boys?"

"You are to come with us, miss."

She picked up her textbooks, and stood, dusting her skirts off and grabbing her slippers. The other students watched with interest that soon turned to surprised and confusion as two soldiers closed grabbed Anerak's arms, her books falling to the ground. "What...let go of me! You're hurting me! Stop it!" As she kicked, the third soldier grabbed her legs and the men carried her away struggling. She called over her shoulder, "Someone, find Pegador, please!" leaving the pages standing there, dumbfounded, while the monks pointedly ignoring the outburst.

She soon found herself alone in a small cell within the Steel Warriors hall. Through the walls, she could hear the warriors training outside. Thirsty, she murmured a word to conjure up a small flask of water. She was sipping from it when a soldier stepped in front of the door of her cell, helmet under arm. Her skin crawled as he stared in at her, a sneer on his face, his eyes raking her body. Curling into a tighter ball, she wedged herself into the corner, knees pulled up to her chin, skirt covering her legs as best it could. Finally the man moved along and she was alone again.

Hours passed, and she took the time to meditate and practice her sleight of hand with a coin from her pocket, until the opening of the cell door stirred her. Two men stepped into her cell, one wearing the regalia of a paladin, though he was unfamiliar to her. A small man in merchant's clothing slipped in around the two, setting down a plate with a small loaf of bread and some soft cheese, with a cup of water. The merchant also set down the cloak she recognized to be the one Pegador found her in, and a small pile of red velvet cloth she had never seen before, evident that they were pieces of a greater whole, torn apart. She came to her feet and glared up at them, her head barely coming to the soldier's shoulders. "What is all this about? Why have you kept me here? Where is Pegador?"

The paladin raised his gauntleted hand, halting the torrent of questions when she paused to draw a breath, "Enough. I am Sir Edwinn Motte. This is Guard Fernaldo. You will not be seeing your guardian again. You have been deemed a danger to the city and corrupt the future of the guilds, and will go to trial. You are to fashion clothing out of those," he nudged the pile of cloth with his boot, careless of the mud that fell onto the material, "as you are leaving or dying in only what you came with."

She stood gaping at him, her mind whirling, "What trial? Leave or die? What do you mean?" She stepped forward only to be thrown to the floor by a gauntleted fist of the guard striking her face. Tears of confusion and pain welled in her eyes as she looked up at the men. "You have until the evening bell."

With that, the paladin turned on his heel and marched out of the cell, Fernaldo following more slowly, his face unreadable. The door swung shut and their footsteps echoed down the hall. Rubbing the side of her face, whispering words to a minor healing spell, Anerak crawled over to the food, and tenderly began to eat; she was afraid the warrior might have loosened a tooth.

Meal done, she eyed the cloth. From Motte's words, she assumed the velvet was more of what she was found in. Brushing the dirt off and with no scissors, thread, or needle, she did the best she could, managing a two-piece outfit: loincloth that hung to her knees and a band that was still attached to a partial sleeve to cover her chest. It must have been a shirt or a dress or something. She folded the blouse and skirt Pegador had bought for her and set them next to the slippers she loved.

At least the cloak could cover her. It fit like it was made for her as Anerak settled it over her shoulders. There were slits for her arms to come through, allowing her body to remain covered. It was a rich blue-black with soft suede on the outside, satin the color of blood for the lining. She was amazed it was still in good condition considering all it had been through. There was a deep hood, meant to cover a lady's coiffure, and over the left breast in silver-blue thread was a symbol matching the mysterious tattoo on her lower abdomen.

The evening bell began to toll. As the last gong echoed into the evening air, the footsteps began down the hall to her cell again. She pulled the hood up, hiding her features that set her apart, and lifted her chin defiantly, ignoring the men who came to get her, even when they held out the manacles. They treated her better then when she was brought in, allowing her to walk in a dignified, if barefooted, manner towards the arena where this trial was apparently taking place.

Her resolve faltered a moment when Anerak stepped through the tunnel into the arena, seeing the stands filled with townsfolk, most of whom she had never met. The floor of the arena was covered with the fine sand of Ro, still radiating heat with the days' heat. In the middle of the sand was a post. The soldiers led her there and, after pulling back her hood, chained her hands behind her, the pole digging into her back. She was left facing the grandstand, where the city council, guild representatives, and ambassadors sat. She searched the stands, and spotted Pegador chained behind the large chairs, his mouth was gagged and he wore civilian clothing, his head hanging dejectedly. Off to the side sat a bard, whose sole purpose was to stun and silence the dark elf should she choose to use any magic and amplify her voice if she was to be allowed to speak.

It was not to be so. Charges were brought forth, found out by a group of Coercer's who pillaged the minds of any person the drow came into contact with, although they had never come to see her. All the squires and pages she had had extracurricular relationships with or taught how to pick a pocket or cheat at King's Court with were to be sent to Qeynos to see if they could be rehabilitated. The Temple's stable master, a creepy old man whom she had avoided all her life for personal reasons, was deemed to suffer enough by having to muck out stalls; even though they now knew he had repeatedly acted without a semblance of honor towards her over the years. When this was said, Pegador's head lifted for a brief moment to look Anerak and, seeing the look on her face, lunged towards the man who made no effort to hide his amusement as his guards beat down the former paladin.

Pegador's name was finally read out. For his charge of lustful thoughts towards one he was responsible for, and a dark elf, no less, he was to be stripped of his rank and exiled. For the present time, he would be sent to the Dead Hills beyond the city of ogres. In a decade or three, if he was still alive, they may consider leniency. Tears rolled down Anerak's face and she felt like she was falling. Because of her, they were sentencing the one person she knew who loved her to a lonely and painful death.

She opened her mouth to speak when she suddenly felt like she was choking. The bard was on his feet, a look of cold hatred on his face, an emotion she had never seen before. Only when she stopped struggling did he loosen the magical bonds only enough for Anerak to gasp for air. The council read out her name, calling her attention back to them, this time Pegador was nowhere to be seen. Due to her acts of blatant corruption and seduction, soliciting with smugglers, being a member of a pick-pocketing ring – these last two charges were from when she was a young child who had just discovered the Pit and its inhabitants – and in general harming the well-being and future of the city, she would normally be put to death by combat due to her connections in the Hall.

However, quite recently, some dark elves had contacted the Council in response to the letter sent a decade and a half ago, and they have come to collect Anerak and take her back to her people. It did not matter that she could count all of "her" people that she knew on one hand. Nor did it matter that these humans would normally kill any dark elf that ventured too close to the city walls and would rather die before cooperating with them. These strangers were, for now, peacefully waiting outside the western gates for the return of the prisoner. And so the dark elf would be exiled and returned to a nation willing to claim Anerak as one of theirs.

A loud crack sounded through the arena as the Magistrate's gavel hit the table. It was done. The crowd began to disperse; only three of the Council remained to watch: Valeron, Kalatrina, and Serna, their faces sad, the two women with their arms around each other, comforting. While one guard unchained Anerak's hands from the pole, four more stood around her, swords ready in hand should she try anything, along with the bard. Stunned, empty feeling, she did not resist as they led her to the gates.

Beyond the cactus, through the shimmering waves of heat that radiated from the hard packed dirt, she could make out some shapes. It appeared to be three dark elves: one male in jet-black armor that seemed to swallow light, a skull-shaped helm covering his face; another in silver armor but female, her blue skin and black hair standing out sharply against the metal; and the third also a male, only wearing a deep green and gold robe that extended to the ground. Looming behind them were two trolls, both in what appeared to be moldy chain mail; a hideous female with a spear the size of a small tree, and a male hefting a throwing axe that would be the size of a battle axe for any of the human guards.

Frightened, Anerak stumbled, trying to stop, but the guards merely grabbed her arms and dragged her before dumping her on the ground outside of the city walls, beyond arrow-range of the evil group. With no warning, a heavy-handed, powerful force invaded her mind and forced her to her knees. She tried to call out, but realized she had no control over her body anymore, she couldn't even cry without permission. The robed one must have been a powerful enchanter. The feeling of this foreign mind ripping through her thoughts felt more violating then the stable master could have hoped to be.

Drained, she didn't try to struggle, just let the enchanter walk her shell of a body over to the group, the smell of the trolls becoming so strong if felt like it coated you, inside and out. Their small camp had already been dismantled, their bags packed ready to head back to Neriak. The drow in the black armor held his sword under Anerak's chin, wrinkling his nose when he drew close, "Dos gow saph natha rivvil!" He snorted and shook his head like clearing a fog, "I know you can hear me, Lotha'uss, even if you cannot nod. We apologize for taking so long to rescue you from the rivvil, but there were more pressing matters at hand, no thanks to our monarchs, may they reign eternal. The spell will be lifted from you in a moment...if you try to do anything rash I have orders to kill you on grounds of being a traitor. If you try to run, our friend here," he gestured to the axe-bearing troll who merely adjusted his grip on the haft, "will put one of those in the back of your head. We will tend to your wounds, and then we shall be off. We hope to be back in the Dark Sanctuary before sunrise."

The pressure lifted from her skull, leaving a dirty taste in her mouth that wasn't caused by the trolls. The robed elf, his face reflecting his similar distaste, looked down his aquiline nose at her, "She's biu mal'ai. Can't even speak the language," and turned away in disgust.

The female stepped forward, "Phu'dos al?" She paused, realizing what the enchanter had said, "Your pardon...do you feel well? Can you speak Elvish at least? They don't speak Common in the City. I am Eresse V'elebrindal, Yathrin of Innoruuk." Murmuring softly about nothing important, Eresse tended to her wounds, before Anerak was picked up and slung over the shoulders of the shaman, and the group began to make their way towards Nektulos Forest.

While she bounced on the shoulder, Anerak realized what was happening to her, and for the first time in her life, she felt a cold but burning pressure enshroud her heart, directed at her situation, her new captors, and the people of Freeport who hurt Pegador. Some within the fold of the Teir'dal would call that feeling the blessing of Innoruuk. Thankfully, she passed out before too long.


	5. Chapter 5

"LYNNARA!" Master Webdancer hollered at the top of his lungs as the older merchant standing before the maestro cringed; the birds in the treetops surrounding pausing, startled, for a moment, before resuming their chorus. As the last of the reverberations of his shout faded, a scuffing noise overhead was heard, followed by a series of thumps across the roof. Dust drifted down from the rafters, glinting in the sunlight that streamed through the windows, making various instruments lying around the room glow ethereally. Giving a long-suffering sigh, the tall wood elf straightened his uniform and rubbed his temples, trying to keep away the headache that threatened him.

A crash sounded in the antechamber followed by muffled yelling. The door to Jakum Webdancer's chambers opened and a young, gangly Feir'dal fell into the room. She was tall for her age, and more eloquent than a child of eight summers should be allowed. Her fiery hair was a mess, falling over her flushed face, her freckles becoming more pronounced. The headmaster arched an eyebrow and shook his head in mild amazement as she hastily tried to smooth her wrinkled tabard that showed her as a student of the Songweavers guild. One boot had come untied, slumping around her ankle, her breeches covered in stains with a gaping hole at the knee. Her ministrations to her hair were in vain, so she gave up, calming her breathing as she stood up straight.

It was a large room that served as office to the guild master and occasionally for private lessons or recitals. Lynnara saw it when she was first brought and accepted into the guild, and now only when she was in trouble, which was often. There were tapestries on the walls and floor to reduce any echoes, as well as shutters and smaller tapestries over the windows to reduce the outside noises. At the moment, the windows were open, bathing the room in golden-green light and letting a small breeze move stir the pages of sheet music that were stacked around the room.

The silence dragged on as a chunk of hair fell down, covering half of her face. The young apprentice did her best to not fidget and keep her eyes on the floor. The merchant frowned at her with pursed lips, and her master had a throbbing vein in his temple; this could not be good. After a moment's pause, annoyance and frustration under control once again, Jakum sighed, breaking the heavy silence. "The good merchant Uaylain has had to take time out of his busy day to speak to me about my students and their innate abilities to leave a path of destruction in their wake, which happened to have disturbed his business. I have spoken to the others and now it is your turn. Please. Kwentra i'narn."

The order was obvious. Tugging once more at the ruined tunic and shaking her hair out of her eyes, Lynnara cleared her throat, looking up at the two adults. "It was my fault, Hodoer Webdancer. I suggested the game. I did not realize by how far but it got out of hand and we – I...tumbled into Master Uaylain's stall." She bobbed her head towards the wronged merchant. "I assume full responsibility. Amin hiraetha." I am sorry.

At the last sentence, she straightened further, her chin going up and her shoulders back, as if to defy her teacher and mentor. Jakum ran a hand over his face, almost weary; she had the habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time along with taking the fall when the students got caught. He did not understand how someone so young could get into so much trouble with such ease. "Did I not tell you to find a quiet place to finish your studies?"

"Yes, Hodoer. And I did, but I completed them before it was time to return." She smiled proudly, "I think I got that rhythm you showed me..." her voice trailed off as she remembered why she was there, the blush returning to her cheeks. She stared once more at her feet, scuffing her toe along the floorboards.

"Lynnara, d'anthaer, I'm going to have to tell your parents." She nodded slowly, her face falling and a worried crease appearing between her brows. "It would also disappoint me greatly if you were unable to complete your studies over some childish antics." She hung her head. "Until the next new moon, four hours a day helping Master Uaylain," he turned to face the merchant, "Is that sufficient recompense for you?"

The merchant nodded and turned to the young wood elf, his brow still furrowed. "Amrun. Tomorrow. You have a lot of work ahead of you." She bowed deeply as Uaylain turned on his heel and marched out of the guildhall, the mess Lynarra created in the antechamber evident through the open door.

Jakum turned back to his wayward student, frowning at the suppressed smile on her face. "We're not through." Her face fell at the tone of his voice. "Around your four hours with the merchant, you will spend at least eight hours a day with myself or Mistress Sylia. You will attend us, either performing various tasks or pursuing your studies, including more histories. When you are not with us, you will be sleeping or helping with the children. When you are not in the nursery or your bed, you will be with your mother or father. Your meals will be had only when you have a spare moment or permission. When I meet with your parents, they may decide to add on to this, so be prepared to more. You are also forbidden to leave the city heights, and I am going to suggest being banned from the festivals as well until you show that you can be responsible. The guard will be notified, and I will know if you disobey me. This will be adjusted when you have completed your month at Master Uaylain's and have free time once more on your hands. Have I made myself clear?"

With each pronouncement, Lynnara's eyes grew wider with each serious proclamation, until he spoke of the forced confinement, when tears welled up and spilt, unbidden, from her bright blue eyes. History was her worst subject, and she would die not being able to run free! And what would she tell her friends when she wouldn't be able to attend the festivals? Her cheeks burned with shame as she rubbed away the tears with the heel of her hand. Not trusting her voice, she nodded once, not meeting his stern gaze, and turned to go, her shoulders slumped.

"Lynnara." His voice was soft in the golden room. She turned back, hiding behind a veil of her hair. His heart ached for her as he placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder, "Ah, Mother of All, what am I going to do with you? You have so much potential but if you keep allowing yourself to get into trouble and not taking this path seriously, I will have no choice but to recommend you be removed from the Hall records. When you apply yourself, you make us all so very proud." He put a finger under her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes, to see his concern and sincerity, "Remember, this punishment is to keep you busy; the more you show us you can do, the easier it will get. Focus on your studies and the time will fly by, and I'm sure Beleth will be happy to help you with histories if you need it and he is not busy. You may go now."

The door swung silently shut behind her as Jakum sat down at his large desk, raking a hand through his dark hair. "Mother of All and Father of the Rains, kyorl phor dosst dalhar...ser ilta sreen'aur," he prayed. Watch over your child and keep her safe. He stared at the report of his troublesome student, his latest transposition forgotten.


	6. Chapter 6

Anerak grunted as the robed boy's shoulder hit her hard, the pain breaking through her thoughts. She sighed to herself, holding her arm where she had connected with the wall, a minor healing spell mending the scrapes and rising bruise. "Serves me right, day-dreaming again." She grimaced as she dusted off her sleeve, noticing the material was torn; she was getting pretty good at tailoring her own clothing. "I guess some things will never change," she spoke aloud to no one, a habit Anerak discovered she had and indifferently accepted when she realized that no one here cared what she thought.

She had just come from a private meeting with her keepers, the shadowknight and priestess who had brought her from Freeport, and the High Priestess and Priest Alexandrian and Zexus, respectively. After the years of her service to the Temple, it was decided that they would permit her to enroll as a novice, but only if she renounced this nonsense of being one of the Faithless, and started the path of Innoruuk.

After the three priests had left, Eresse having to attend to Alexandrian, Anerak was left with the shadowknight, Arkhon D'aronbarra, a corporal in the Dread Guard. Before they left the room, he had turned to her, "I am proud of you, lotha'uss. There were not many who thought you would make it this far. Be warned there are still some who considered you naut khaless khurzon, an og'elend," Not trustworthy. Traitor. She was not surprised, and her face reflected such. Arkhon put his hands on her shoulders, giving her a serious look, "Don't aggravate those people nor let them stop you. And I would suggest you accept the gift that Innoruuk has presented to you. Just remember, he will most likely punish you if you are false in your commitment to him. He is our Father and Prince. Xaut gotfrer!" The showing of caring towards Anerak embarrassed the death-reaver, and quickly left the room.

She had been winding her way between buildings and fountains back to her closet-sized room when she met up with the students of the Tower, her mind racing as she considered this change of heart. It had been a long road. She easily lost track of time in this sunless and ever-warm city, but her sel'dro tangi, birthing day, was coming up soon. If she counted correctly, her thirtieth one, to be precise, which would be the reason for the timing behind the invitation from the Temple. Anerak chewed her lip as she closed the door to her room. That meant she had been in Neriak for half of her life, attending classes and cleaning up after priests and their acolytes. She sat on her cot, drawing her knees to her chest, thinking back.

When she had first arrived, the enchanter and trolls had quickly made themselves scarce, their duty to bring home the idiot child complete. The shadowknight and priestess had then brought their charge before another Council, this one of the Neriak guild masters, where she was searched and tested and inspected. While quite young, a Hall would have claimed most Teir'dal children years ago. She was paraded before each hall; when they were through with Anerak, would pronounce, "Naut udosst," not ours, or "Naut uss d'udossan," not one of us. She tried not to think about it, but each time merely drilled into her head of how much of an outsider she was, a colnbluth. She was still learning this new language of the drow that was vaguely similar to the language of the Elves that Pegador had the foresight to teach her.

What seemed like hours later, the Temple of Hate had examined Anerak, finding her, in their words, barely proficient in the rudimentary arts, but perhaps she would be serviceable as a servant who could spend time around the m'thainen without causing too much trouble. During the examination, recognition had flashed in the eyes of the priest when he saw her tattoo, but had ignored her questioning looks, other than to call her a rivvil seriso, human lover. She had felt like screaming to them that if they didn't like her or believed that she belonged, then why don't they just let her go. She may not be welcome in Freeport, but Norrath is a big place.

It was no use. She was brought to the Temple of Innoruuk, where she was given two uniforms and a set of used and worn casual clothing. Her bed was a mat of dry reeds with a blanket set in the corner of the servants' quarter in the basement of the Temple. When not needed for assisting acolytes and priests or cleaning up after them, she was to attend various classes, including those for infant children to learn proper behavior and languages to fill in what she missed growing up outside of Neriak. Anerak hated those classes, with the sneers and knowing looks and the teasing back in the dorm. She still went though, doing her best to ignore all but what she needed to learn to survive in the city, working hard on mastering this culture.

Her favorite was the classes on Teir'dal history. Based on what she learned from the library in the Academy of Arcane Science, it still felt like she wasn't getting the whole story, but there was still much more to learn here. She discovered that the Teir'dal had actually had an Empire, created out of blood and hate, encompassing Faydwer and spanning the Ocean of Tears. It fell to ruin when the Pale Ones, the Koda'dal, had lost their home in the Eldarr forest to a great fire. The rebels who feared the great power of the Prince had sacked an outpost, stealing the ships they found there, and proceeded to invade Faydwer, explaining the deep-set animosity held towards their pale cousins.

The final blow had landed when the wild ones, now known as the Feir'dal, who had been avoiding the conflict, joined sides with the enemy and assassinated the last emperor Thex of the Undying Dynasty. Innoruuk had answered the prayers of his most faithful, saving his remaining children when he opened the ground, giving them a path that culled out the weak, until they were delivered to the Forest of Eternal Night, Nektulous. Now the city was tense as a coiled spring as we gather strength to rid Norrath of the blasphemers who would dare build a city in celebration of our Emperor's death.

Anerak found it fascinating that there were two schools of thoughts on the origin of the people; the first being that Innoruuk, not wanting to be left out of the populating of Norrath and wanting to keep the other gods in line had created the Teir'dal within the Underfoot. That was the more popular opinion within the Houses and royalty. The second school of thought being that Innoruuk was displeased with where the empire of elves was headed, so gave his divine touch to the two rulers, before returning them, where they shared their experience and all elves shared in the faith, until the rebels came and ruined everything.

All of it was quite enlightening, as it explained the focused homicidal feelings towards the other elves. Her teachers had few answers when she questioned them about their people's place in the Combine Empire, but they were happy to tell her about the snake-men, the Shissar, who used to have a temple nearby. The Shissar had abandoned the temple when the gods punished them for some unknown offence. The king's witch, Najena, now resided in the temple, gleaning information from the old tomes and practicing her dark arts. It was from there that the dark elves had learned of mana, the mysterious power within and around themselves that allowed those who could access it to manipulate the environment, the elements, even the living and undead.

Her life continued the monotonous pattern of cleaning and learning for years. She was never fully accepted, and so kept to herself, other than the occasional getting fistfight. The last time she got into a fight was with a student outside the Lodge of the Dead, she broke his nose, the sickening crunch oddly pleasing after he had tossed her latest homework to the guardian ghouls. She had spent hours on the assignment as her masters were more strict with Anerak than her peers, and when she saw it gone in a cloud of shredded parchment, something inside her clenched, and next thing she knew, the boy was on his back screaming while blood poured from between his fingers as he clutched his face. She had been given a flogging worth remembering, even now, the memories of such caused her to wince. It was enough to curb her violent tendencies...or at least save them for the arena.

* * *

><p>After a few months, when the Keeper of the Servants in the Temple had deemed Anerak presentable and she had proven that she had a minor grasp on the language, Arkhon was summoned to once again escort Anerak to a private mansion beyond the Third Gate, the architecture of the bridges and buildings more ornate than in the rest of the city. Once inside, she was taken to a private theatre that vaguely looked like a slavery showing room. She was left on the stage uncomfortably alone, Arkhon standing at attention to one side, when a group of older Teir'dal had walked in. The couple were dressed in nobles' finery with cascades of lace and had faces of smooth stone. The other two were both male in matching uniforms, the dark armor glinting menacingly, looking as though they had been born with the swords at their sides.<p>

Anerak was not permitted to speak or move, unless told otherwise. All questions were directed at her keeper. The two men had looked at her briefly, the older one's face hardening while the younger looked curious. The former had broke the silence first, "Can she use mana?" At the affirmative, he had made a gesture to ward off evil, and then beckoned for the other soldier to follow him. They had wordlessly left the chamber, the younger one glancing over his shoulder towards her before the door closed behind them.

The rich couple had looked at Anerak like she was something a dog would chew on. "Which Hall picked her?" Arkhon had cleared his throat, "The Temple. They believe she is too far behind her peers to be of any use, but she was part of the healers' hall in Freeport, so can do rudimentary healing and such, and has proven willing to work hard. They have her cleaning when she is not learning." The noblewoman looked as though she would faint and started to fan her face, "What of the wedding dress? Red velvet, with silver thread and lace...it was taken without permission." The shadowknight had bowed slightly, "I'm afraid it was ruined beyond repair, Arwen en amin."

"Gi'ussta!" She had collapsed against her husband, who had made a face in the direction of the vaulted ceiling and patted his wife's arm. "The wedding was without blessing from us or the Regency, who did not find it overly important when we petitioned. That being said, we will not recognize the tsak uss." Tainted one. Anerak had cringed at those words; they would follow her to this day. "However, to clear us of any debt and because we loved our daughter before she was stolen by that...faernau malar'whol plak'la...we will send an offering and donation to the Temple, they can deem where it is used. Doer, 'ranndi."

Not understanding at what had happened or who those people were, Anerak had looked to Arkhon after the older couple had left. He had had an unusual look on his face and refused to meet her eye. When he had spoken, his voice was like the granite walls of the city, "Those were your mother's parents. The other two were your father's father and brother. Do not seek them out. Do not look at them from afar. They do not want you. They do not need a colnbluth to remind them of their dead, disobedient children. You will be permitted to keep the cloak as it is ruined with the embroidery that your mother added but you will not take the name of your parents. Ever. Doer." Come.

She did not press the matter and they had never spoken of it again, save once a year later. By then, an enormous shadow wolf had been captured and a sacrifice had been made, and the donation the older couple sent to the Temple had been allotted out, a portion set aside for the care of Anerak, moving her to the small room she now occupied, with a few of her own personal effects like a hair brush and a hand mirror, her cloak and the remnants of what must have been her mother's wedding dress. She had settled into a routine, keeping to herself and refraining from fighting with students or fellow servants even in the arena, listening to teachers and masters, and avoiding the family she didn't know that had disowned her.

Arkhon had brought her some sweets from Dran 'Slug' Rembor, a human who imported goods into the Foreign Quarter when he met with her at Cuisine Excelsior for an evening meal and a drink. The meeting was a tradition of sorts when he was not busy with his duties or was not entertaining the daughter of a noble, but the gift was something different.

It was then that Arkhon had shared with her the given names of her parents, Aranel and Felanni, but holding back their family names. He also told her that no one knew what had happened to them after they had left with Ambassador D'vinn, or why she had ended up in the clutches of the humans as a babe, even though the Regency had put forth an inquiry. He had never believed the story Pegador had told her, rather that elves must have slaughtered the delegation, and kept her for some disgusting reason, such as selling her to the humans. He also did not know what the crest on the cloak or her matching tattoo meant, there being none like it anywhere within the City.

Absentmindedly, Anerak dropped her hand to the side of her lower abdomen, covering the tattoo, her other hand fingering a piece of the ruined dress. It was surprising that the Temple would actually accept her as a novice, especially when she apathetically considered herself part of the Faithless, a group that did not rely on the gods but rather themselves alone. Since the fall of the Combine Empire, with the mingling of so many races and religions, followers of dark and light, this wasn't an unheard of practice in Neriak, but was highly frowned upon and unaccepted by the Temple.

Anerak also knew that she would not be able to expand her powers and help others until she learned to call upon a god and focus her faith. After a decade and a half of learning the doctrine and being surrounded by the Children of Hate, she was beginning to find it difficult to remember what was so wrong about following the path of Hate. It was a pure way of thinking at least. No grey areas.

Beginning her preparations for the nights' slumber, she decided to give the Prince of Hate a chance if he would have her. If he could give her a night free of nightmares, possibly make it easier to forget Pegador, she would see it as a sign she belonged in the Temple. And perhaps she would ask Eresse to help her with a scourging as well.

Her mind made up, Anerak crawled under the blankets, and lay on her back. Hair fanned over the pillow, fingers loosely curled around the scrap of velvet, she closed her eyes. For the first time in fifteen years, whether by finding a place to belong to or by the touch of a god, she slept soundly through the night.


	7. Chapter 7

In dull mismatched, but well cared for, armor, Lynnara sat at the edge of the foreboding Kithicor Forest, deftly patching an old drum. "Really, how bad can this place be?" she thought to herself as she gazed into the woods that seemed to swallow all life and light. Sounds she had never heard before and that made her skin crawl called out to her from the gloom, but they were not going to stop her from continuing her journey. It never dawned on her to think back to her lessons about these very woods, and the curse that lay upon them now.

She could already hear the voice of Belious Naliedin chuckling and making some wry comment about the fearlessness of young people. She had only met him once when she was two summers old, before she had joined the Songweavers, at the Faradome, the mid-summer celebration. The city of Kelethin had gathered on the large meeting platform, high amidst the trees, sparks from a great bonfire reaching to join their counterparts in the night sky. He had woven many a tale that night, saving the more frightening ones till the little ones, her included, had gone to bed.

Since then, he had become a bit of a legend within the Hall. He had left the forest, and travelled until he reached the sea on the far side of Antonica, where he helped establish another Hall within the fair city of Qeynos. He was also one of the first troubadours within network of bardic couriers that now spanned Norrath. Lynnara had grown up listening to stories of this half-elf, his name being used to inspire or keep the novices in line, many a time directed at her in the latter context.

She had worked hard to do her parents and masters proud; working hard at all that was set before her, doing her best not to get into any more trouble since her last warning, which just meant that she had strived harder at not getting caught. She had preferred to be running along the railings of the rope bridges that connected the platforms, or sitting on the roofs of the huts, rather than being cooped up inside unless she was doing chores for Canloe Nusback in Kaladim. Languages had been particularly difficult until it was noticed that she learned them faster with songs, although reading and writing them were still a challenge. It had taken her a full year to compose a song worthy to play at the Yenearsira, the Winter Solstice festival, but she had finally proven to all that she was ready to move to the next level of her training, two decades later.

Absentmindedly, she adjusted the patch on her armor that declared her of minstrel status of the Songweavers, which allowed her to leave unaccompanied from the lands of Faydwer, remembering the goodbyes that would be the beginning of her first mission and her first trip to Antonica. Sylia Windlehands, one of her masters, had spent the week before the departure attempting to re-teach everything Lynnara had learned over many years. Her mother, a part-time guardian of the forest with the Soldiers of Tunare and ever the pragmatist, first had slipped her daughter a talisman of protection against conception, "Just in case," while they worked on her packs, and then crying at the actual send-off, gave her daughter another small talisman for protection and luck. Her father, a retired Scout and now a teacher within his Hall, had sharpened all her weapons and repaired all her armor, even though he was the one who taught the young wood elf how to do those very things.

Straightening from her task, she glanced to the sky and its dying light, then back to the gloomy woods. Squaring her shoulders, speaking out loud for the reassurance of her own voice, "I am a Feir'dal. I was the fastest in my class. No problem." Not knowing any better, the young bard started jogging down the path, quickly swallowed by the darkness.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, on the other side of the forest, a small caravan made its way along the faded track down from the mountain pass of Highhold, a group of human and barbarian merchants on their way to the newfound continent of Velious. A young barbarian was leading one of the wagons, the tattoos on his face and peeking out from under the neckline and sleeves of his tunic and vest, along with the two short swords at his side, depicting him as a student of war. His attention was fully focused on a worn, leather-bound book of battle tactics his master had given him before they had left the northern city of Halas, one hand resting on the halter of a mammoth.<p>

The wagon ahead of him slowed as the caravan reached the edge of the woods. Distracted, the young warrior kept walking until his mammoth reared his head and a voice rang out, "Khelso!" Looking up, startled, Khelso sheepishly put his book away as his aunt approached; her hands on her hips with the look only a motherly woman can give. "Khelso, you have been nothing but trouble lately. I thought you would be glad to leave Halas."

"I would be except we're going to someplace even colder. Why can't we go back to your shop in Firiona Vie? All my friends are there and it's warm and I could even complete my studies there." He looked down on his aunt, as he was already a few inches taller than her, his face hopeful. She sighed and shook her head. "Khelso, we've told you – a merchant goes where the trade is, and until you're of age, you go where your father and I go."

He made a face before taking a breath, schooling his voice, "But I'm not a merchant and I'll be of age this winter. I can feel the Tribunal smile on me when I master another combination."

"Which is why we brought you to Halas; someone had to teach you further since you learned everything from your teacher at Firiona Vie. And now that you've earned your next tattoo, we must go on. The cold won't be so bad – you're a barbarian after all. No promises, but mayhap the Coldain will let you drill with the guard. Just try not to upset your father." The last was said with tired resignation, as she was the referee between the two men since her sister had died.

When he nodded, she patted his arm and hurried back to her wagon. Grumbling to himself, Khelso tugged on the mammoth's halter and looked around, noticing the dark woods looming over the caravan. A cold mist drifted across the ground and between the trees, masking them in an eerie light. He couldn't figure out why they were going through the forest this late in the day, but then, his father rarely shared his reasons for doing things once he learned his son was to follow the warriors' path. The closest they could come to talking about the future was a chance of Khelso becoming one of the caravan's guards, something as exciting as watching snow fall, in his mind. Shrugging deeper into his polar bear skin cloak and loosening his swords by instinct, the young man marched along, warily peering into the gloom, trying to discern whether it was shadows or if there were shapes moving between the trees.

With little warning, a pack of dread wolves appeared, lunging for the merchants and the mammoths. Stepping clear to let the mammoth protect itself, reflexes left one wolf lying on the ground, twitching, in a growing pool of blood, while another flew into the trunk of a tree, thrown by the large mammal. Up ahead, Khelso could hear his family and friends fighting the wolves. Pulling the wagons together, the traders fought with everything they had, killing many of the pack, yet more came leaping out of the darkness.

* * *

><p>"So far, so good," Lynnara thought as she ran along the path clutching her drum and the talisman. Suddenly, a flash of dark fur and fangs struck her in the chest, knocking the wind from her lungs. Staggering to her feet and gasping for air, she found herself staring down a wolf half again her size. Her weapons appeared in her hands. To her surprise, a flash of red light surrounded the wolf as she was struck with intense pain throughout her body. Gritting her teeth through the pain, Lynnara leapt at the wolf, burying her dagger deep into its right eye, but not before it bit into her shoulder. It hurt, badly. Singing a song to mend her wounds and give her energy, she picked up her drum. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Broken. Again. Just as she bent to pick up her talisman, the sounds of shouts and growls reached her ears. Without thinking, she limped towards the noises.<p>

Coming to the clearing, she saw a group of merchants stood with their backs to their wagons, protecting those who had fallen. Standing in front of the group were two large male Northmen, one wielding a huge spear and shield, and the slightly smaller one with two swords, bleeding from multiple slashes and cuts. The ground was littered with unmoving forms of wolves; blood was everywhere, even on the enormous mammoths. The people were visibly exhausted, and there were a handful of wolves still advancing.

While the two giant men engaged in battle with more of the lupine monsters, the bard leapt into the midst of the wolves, stunning one before it cast on her again, staggering in agony when another did, and let out a loud screech that would make a banshee proud. Bewildered, the wolves paused long enough for barbarians to slay the ones that had not scattered in fright.

As soon as the beasts were out of sight, Lynnara joined the merchants and brought out her flute, calling forth a magical mist to hide them for the moment. Immediately, the largest human she had ever laid eyes on, carrying a spear that was bigger than her, began shouting orders and soon the wounded and dead were in wagons being tended to. Someone picked her up and placed her on the seat of the wagon that looked to be led by the sword-carrying man. She wearily put down the instrument with relief and soon the caravan was moving swiftly to the east, the way she had come from. Nothing more was said until camp was set up beyond the forest and next to the Commons Lake at the fishermen huts, under a dark sky, clouds hiding the stars.

Rested and healthier than most, Lynnara began to work alongside of young man whose wagon she had ridden in and a female who appeared to be his mother, putting the skills her own mother taught her to work. The three quietly and methodically tended the wounded. As she wound clean bandages around a wounded woman's arm, Lynnara cast quick glances towards the man. She figured him to be close to her age, the tattoos and her lack of knowledge of the northern people made it hard to guess. That, and she knew that elves aged slower than the Men, so it was always difficult to compare. Regardless, he was old enough to grow a full beard, trimmed neatly into a fetching goatee, with his shoulder-length hair tied back with a leather thong.

The woman straightened, and pushed the two young people down, authoritatively, "Now. It is your turn to be tended." Lynnara grinned and removed her vambrace to show how her skin was once-again flawless even though the armor was punctured. "My name's Lynnara Starspinner, of the Songweaver's Guild." She flashed a smile at the handsome man next to her. "My song will make you feel better, if you wish...?" He stuck out his hand, and the two clasped forearms. "Khelso Kladhmionn of Halas, and it'd be greatly appreciated. This is my aunt, Aimil Connoy, and my father be th'one tending to the wagons." He gestured with his chin where the large older man inspected the undersides of each wagon, ensuring no broken axels or wheels. The women nodded at each other, as Aimil spoke, wiping her hands on her skirts, "By the way, thank you for your help – out there and in here." As she said this, her nephew smiled warmly at Lynnara in a way that made her pulse quicken and cheeks flush, shrugging off the thanks.

Later, the only sounds were the occasional cry of a plains cat accompanied by crickets, the nervous shuffling of the mammoths, and the murmurs of people talking around the camp. The two young travelers sat apart from the group, talking quietly. He spoke of growing up in Firiona Vie, and then moving to Halas after his aunt and father closed their shop so he could receive the training he needed and of how he hated the cold and was dreading going to Velious. His mother, a warrior as well, died in an ambush set by the ice giants when he was young, thus his father moved away from the Northlands. He had wanted to be a warrior like his mother since he could remember, wanting to travel, but not as a merchant. He also loved to read anything he could get his hands on, an odd trait amongst those who walked his path.

She sang him a song of warmth and comfort, and was envious of his book collection. She spoke of a city in the treetops and how it never snowed, getting into enough trouble with the bards to call for detention almost daily, and her dislike of spiders. Her father worked with the Scouts, teaching the young ones how to fletch their own gear, and stockpiling the stores "just in case". Her mother spent part of her time out tending the forest, the rest in a store selling herbs. Khelso took joy in her voice and watched, curious, as she repaired her much-loved drum.

This continued over the next few days, bard never far from warrior and vice versa, as the caravan made its way to the Desert of Ro. The adults exchanged knowing looks whenever the young couple would vanish after the camp was set; Northmen being indulgent of such behavior so long as both parties involved know what they were doing and neither dishonored their family names.

* * *

><p>The day came when the wagons were loaded onto the barge that would take them to the island where the Icebreaker, the latest gnomish invention of great magnitude, docked. The two young people stood off to one side, holding hands with sad looks upon their faces. "I wish I could go with you, but I'm already off schedule from the mail run and probably in trouble for it." The wood elf ducked her head, sniffling.<p>

Releasing one of her hands, Khelso presented her with a new drum. "Your other drum is worn out, and you said it helped you run faster. So I made this for you so you can run faster back to me. Sorry for the texture – Father would only let me use old sharkskin for some reason." Turning it over in her hands, feeling the rough skin, she beat out a little rhythm. Beaming a smile at him, "It's perfect, thank you." Deciding not to hurt herself in an attempt to wrap her arms around his neck, she settled for his waist and rested her head against his broad chest, catching him with surprise for a moment before he enfolded his arms around the slight elf.

They stood like that for what seemed an eternity, and then pulled apart at the sound of footsteps. She was carrying a large pack and a huge claymore that belonged to Khelso's father. Despite her nephew's questioning look, she handed him the pack and spear and gestured behind her, where her sister's widower was talking to several of the barbarians from the fishing village. "Your father says there is not enough room on the barge for everyone now that there are several from the village joining us. You have our blessing and our love. Make us proud, and take care of this special girl." She kissed him on the cheek and gave Lynnara a firm embrace, whispering, "Take care of our boy."

With that, she was gone, the couple standing there, unsure of what had just happened, the pack and sword forgotten for the moment. They shook their heads as if in a daze as Frankel, the pirate gnome who sold passage aboard the Icebreaker, announced the departure of the barge. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they watched as the barge set sail towards the horizon, the silhouette of Khelso's father saluting them.

Turning to Khelso, Lynnara searched his face then winked, "Hope legs as long as yours mean you can run fast." He was following the echo of her laughter.

* * *

><p><em>Anerak - dark elf, priest, faction encylopedia for my server. My first main, as healers were often in need. It was my mission to be liked by every temple in Norrath, and I mostly succeed. Sometimes it was just a little more difficult than others to get past the other NPCS ;) But it was always funny seeing people's reactions to me sitting next to high elf guards.<em>

_Lynnara - wood elf, bard. My second main and my source of most nostalgia & carpel tunnel. I was twisting 4 songs seamlessly for hours before they came up with /melody. *shakes her cane*_

_Rhonwynn - barbarian, shaman. Just an alt, mostly to learn how to maintain buffs._

_Arkhon, Khelso were both my hubby's toons._

_Any NPC names and locations and lore, whatnot, that I used belong to SOE._


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